


Doggone

by partofthedisease



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Crossover Pairings, I don't know how to write car chase scenes ok leave me alone, M/M, Mercy Killing, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, Young Rick, Young Stan, with a happy ending i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partofthedisease/pseuds/partofthedisease
Summary: Rick has a realization after getting into a car accident with Stan.(A story in which everyone gets hurt.)





	

Rick's visits to Gravity Falls are few and far between.

The sleepy little town doesn't seem to like him- not the citizens, per say, but the town _itself._ It could be because Rick is a man of science and logic, two things that Gravity Falls both defies and detests. Whenever Rick steps into town, the air always seems a bit colder, the skies overcast, as if his surroundings are casting an ominous glare at him. Rick is allowed in Gravity Falls by written law, but by the laws of nature, he isn't such a welcomed guest. 

The first time Rick visited Gravity Falls it was to outrun an interplanetary gang he'd cheated money out of. He needed a location that couldn't be found on any maps made by the Galactic Federation, and Gravity Falls was one of the few places that fit the bill. He swore he would hide out for only a week, no more than that, and never return. Then he met Stan Pines, local con-man, and suddenly his plans took a turn.

Gravity Falls is full of anomalies. Stan is Rick's favorite. The man has been kicked around all his life and still manages to see the silver linings in every cloud. He looks rough around the edges, like he could rip you apart with his bare hands (in truth, he probably could), and yet Stan is the softest person Rick has ever met. 

Rick is a busy man. He's 25, in the prime of his life. He builds things, and travels the galaxy, and meets people he immediately forgets about days later. His life is in a constant state of "fast forward," unless he's with Stan. When he's with Stanley, everything slows-

Except for right now. They're getting chased by police, Stan is doing 90 in a 45, and Rick feels like puking his guts up.

Rick digs his fingers into the leather car seat of Stan's truck, feeling his stomach turn somersaults in his body. "Whoa, Jesus, _Jesus,_ Lee! Don't floor it, for God's sake, y-y-you tryin' to kill us?"

"Am _I_ tryin' to kill us?" Stan repeats, shooting Rick an incredulous look, _"you're_ the one who threw your coke and vodka Slurpee out the window at those cops and yelled, 'eat it, you fascist pigs!'"

"Hey, in my defense, I didn't think they'd actually chase us! Th-they looked fresh outta the academy; the one on the left looked like he was barely able to shoot a gun!" Rick throws a cautious look behind him through the backseat window. There's a police car on their tail, and the cop on the left looks very, very angry. Without warning, Stan swerves into the right lane and speeds up, ignoring the loud horn blaring from the car behind them. The distance between their car and the police has grown.

 _"Rick."_ Stan's tone is serious as he stares pensively at the road in front of them. "Do you trust me?"

Despite the situation, Rick's lips quirk upward. "I dunno, should I?" 

"Considering our circumstances, and the very thin line that's separating our freedom from jail time, yeah, I think you _should_ take a chance on me," Stan retorts. 

Rick's smirk fades, and he glances over his shoulder once more. Flashes of red and blue fill his vision- the police are a few cars back, yet he knows they could catch up to them at any second. He turns to Stan decidedly. 

"Alright," he answers, "I trust you. Now wh-what's the plan."

Stan nods affirmatively, flashing Rick a grin that practically makes the latter dizzy. The brunet narrows his eyes at the road, biting his tongue in thought. It's then that Rick notices they're coming up on a turn- two of them, in fact. The second turn leads them out of the parkway and into the main streets of the town. The other is closed off, barricaded by a wooden _"DO NOT CROSS"_ sign and overgrown shrubbery. Realization hits Rick like a train and he turns to smile widely at his boyfriend.

"You crazy son of a _bitch,"_ he says, just as Stan makes a hard turn to the right and they crash through the sign onto the forbidden path. Red and blue blur past them, the wailing sirens gradually fade, and Stan and Rick both share a loud sigh of relief as their car speeds down the abandoned road and away from trouble.

"Take that, you cunts!" Rick crows, and he pounds his fist against the ceiling triumphantly. "Yeah-ha-ha, we did it, motherfucker!" 

Stan is grinning. "No need to thank me," he says cheekily. 

"I'll be thankin' you _plenty_ tonight, big fella," Rick assures him with a wink, and Stan blushes at the statement. The brunet opens his mouth to reply and stops short when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Rick follows his gaze just in time to see a blurred figure jump out from the forest.

"Shit, _shit,_ hit the breaks!" yells Rick. The car lurches forward in a screeching halt, accompanied by a loud thud, and the silence that follows is tense and heavy. 

"Oh, God." Stan's hands are shaking, barely touching the wheel as he stares straight ahead through the windshield. "Oh my _God._ I hit something," he says in a small voice, eyes wide with terror.

"A-as if it weren't clear enough from the way you swerved the car." Rick grimaces as he rubs his neck. He narrows his eyes at Stan and adds, "I think I _-urrrrp-_ I think I got whiplash 'cause of your dumb ass."

Stanley looks as though he's on another plane of existence. His eyes are glazed over, body all tremors, and Rick can only assume the brunet is playing the accident over and over again in his head. He lays a hand on Stan's shoulder, and the man stiffens.

"C'mon," Rick says gently, unbuckling his seatbelt, "let's check out the damage."

It's a dog- a golden retriever, to be exact. It lays almost motionless, save for the erratic rise and fall of its chest. Its silky blond coat is stained with fresh blood that pours steadily from a gash in its chest. It pants heavily, blood crusting the fur under its bottom lip. Upon seeing Rick and Stan, it thumps its tail twice halfheartedly.

 _"Jesus,"_ Stan murmurs shakily, threading his fingers through his hair as he glances away.

Rick bends down to inspect the dog. He presses a hand against its chest and gently lifts one of its hind legs. "Hey, girl, hey," he coos, staring intently at the dog's blood-soaked fur. He applies slight pressure to her chest, pulling away when the dog whimpers in pain, and turns to stare at Stan. "Br-broken ribs," Rick tells him. "She's no doubt bleeding internally, too."

"Well, what do we do?" Stan demands anxiously, staring ahead of him into the woods. "There ain't a hospital around here for _miles,_ there aren't any phone booths in this hick town- we can't just..." Slowly, his eyes travel to the dog, and he winces at the sight.

"We can't just _leave_ 'er here," he finishes, voice choked in his throat as he turns away once more.

Rick stares at the dog, stares straight into her eyes, and she gazes back, blinking tiredly. Her brown eyes shine in the headlights, but Rick can see they're gradually dimming. He brings himself to his feet conclusively.

He clears his throat. "Stan," he begins lowly, his breath hanging in the cold night air.

"We can- we can drive," Stan quickly interrupts. "Hospital's just a straight shot down the highway- I know there's one in the next town over-"

 _"Lee._ Q-quit babbling and listen to me." Stan turns around, brows furrowed intensely. Rick reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small handgun. "L-look. It's our, it's our only option here." He gestures to the dog with his gun. "She's _dying."_

"You don't know that!" snaps Stan, and Rick can see tears forming in his eyes. "Broken ribs, they heal! I've had a few fractured ones myself during my boxing days! A-and I'm sure the doctors can-"

"Stanley, y-you idiot, she's _bleeding out!"_ Rick shouts back, and the dog whimpers as if on cue. "A-a few broken ribs might be a different story, but this dog is literally hemorr-urrr-haging! She's bleeding internally _and_ externally! And, I dunno about you, Stan, but I think your car seats would look a whole lot nicer without blood smeared all over 'em from an animal _you_ failed to save!"

Stan pales, and his expression turns grim, mouth set in a tight line and eyes downcast. At last he stares at the dog, who wags its tail again. 

Rick folds his arms across his chest. "So what- so what's it gonna be?" he questions impatiently.

Kneeling on the rain-slicked road, Stan gently scoops the dog's head into his hands and pets her fur gently. Around her neck is a thin, mud-crusted collar with a metal tag on it. The brunet inspects the dirty collar through the headlights. "Bella," Stan reads aloud, and at the sound of her name the dog musters enough strength to lift her head and lick his cheek. 

"Heh." A tear rolls down Stan's cheek as he fights back a smile. "I'm sure you made some kid real happy wherever you're from-"

And then a shot rings through the air, and the dog's head goes limp in Stan's arms. 

Stan abruptly drops the dog, watching as her body shrivels and contorts. The blood that was once pouring from the wound trickles back back into her body, leaving her coat dry and skin wrinkled. Her body looks almost mummified, unblinking eyes lacking their once-lively gloss. 

Stan's gaze snaps to Rick, who's blowing smoke from the barrel of his gun. "You wouldn't shut up," he explains bluntly, staring at the dog's body, "so I got it over with." He taps the gun as he adds, "moisture seeking bullets. I invented them so I w-w-wouldn't have to clean up any spills after a shoot-out. They _-urrrrrp-_ they come in handy more often than you'd think."

"She was someone's dog," mutters Stan, gaze traveling back to the corpse. "Somebody's friend. An' I killed her."

"Correction- _I_ killed her. L-let's not make this all about you." Rick pockets the gun and makes his way to the passenger side of the car. "Now, this sorta put a damper on our da-aaaaate, but I'm sure you can make up for it back at your place, right, Stanley?" The man gets no response. "Lee?" He glances up, annoyed, to see Stan lifting the dead dog into his hulking arms. 

"Oh, f-for Christ's sake, it's _dead!"_ he angrily snaps. "Just leave it already!"

Stan glares at the older male, so intimidating that Rick actually swallows. "Grab a shovel," growls Stanley. Rick brushes off his fear with an eyeroll and trudges to the trunk of the car.

Rick doesn't know his way around the forests of Gravity Falls. Stan does. He shines a flashlight that burns through the darkness and leads Rick between pines and firs, over creeks and winding streams. Rick itches to intertwine his fingers with Stan's in apology, but Stan has the light in one hand and the goddamn dead dog slung under his left arm, so the scientist grumbles under his breath and shoves his hands in the pocket of his jeans. 

"Here. Here's good."

They stop in a clearing, where all of the trees that circle the large grassy space bend inward and hide the sky. Stan gingerly lays the dog down, stroking its head. "It's okay, girl. We're gonna give you a proper sendoff."

Rick's eye twitches. The dog is dead, just a dried up carcass. In a few years it'll be nothing but bones. Why is Stan talking to it like it's a newborn child?

Stan clears his throat, snapping Rick from his thoughts. "Shovel," he says, and the taller male silently hands the tool over.

Rick watches for some time as Stan upturns heaps of earth. He shifts uncomfortably before taking a tentative step toward his boyfriend. "I-I could-" he begins.

"Nah. I got it," Stan cuts him off. "I hit her, I should be the one laying her to rest. This is my job." Stan glances over at Rick and gives a half-smile. "You just stand there and look pretty fer me."

"N-now _there's_ a job I excell at." Rick smirks.

Time passes and soon Stan has dug a hole in the earth about two feet deep. He leans over the shovel, panting, and wipes the sweat from his brow before walking over to the dog. He places Bella into the ground and closes his eyes, muttering a small prayer. Rick rolls his eyes. Stan glances at the dog one last time before shoveling the previously upturned dirt back into the hole. 

"Stan Pines, y-you are too good a man for this planet," Rick tells him once he finishes, patting his sweat-dampened back and taking him by the arm as they walk to the car. 

"I guess," Stan mumbles under his breath.

They park outside Stan's apartment, and Rick, although not normally sappy, is pressing kisses to Stan's knuckles and wrists. Then Stan's putting his key in the door and Rick is sucking on his neck, and by the time they're inside it takes all of Rick's strength not to shove his hand down Stan's pants. The thing is, though, Stan's response is not _nearly_ as eager as it normally is. He usually squirms and whines under Rick's touch, but now is different. While Rick is undoing the brunet's jeans with haste, Stan simply shrugs off his coat and tosses it on the floor halfheartedly.

"Oh, baby, I've been, been w-waiting all night for this," Rick grins, hoping to elicit some response as he runs his hands down Stan's sides. 

"Heh, yeah." Stan coughs and stares at the floor. "Me too."

"On the bed, Pines. Y-y-you know the drill."

They're making out, and things seem to lighten up. Rick is straddling Stanley's lap, breathing hot and heavy against his lips. Stan has his arms draped lazily over Rick's shoulders, lips shy and modest against Rick's. When Rick opens his eyes, however, he sees Stan staring at the floor, brows furrowed, mind somewhere else.

He pulls away with a sputter. "W-w-what are- what's your _problem,_ Lee, huh, what's the deal?"

Stan lowers his head, giving no response.

"I-i-it's that fucking dog, isn't it? You-you-you're thinking about that dumb mutt again, aren't you? _Aren't_ you?" Rick questions angrily, his grip on Stan's arms tightening. 

"'m sorry, Rick." Stan's mud-puddle eyes meet Rick's stormy glare. "I just- I never hit somethin' like that before." He rubs his neck. "Sure, I've hit squirrels, and coons, b-but-"

"B-but not a dog, r-r-right? _Never_ a dog, oh, God for _bid!"_ Rick clasps his hands, staring up at the ceiling with mock innocence. All the while Stan's fists are gripping the sheets, and he bites his lip, looking like he's on the verge of tears.

"Kill five or ten squirrels, no, no biggie right, I mean, the sanitation department will take care of it," Rick continues with a sneer, leaning in until the two are almost nose-to-nose, "b-but hit _one_ dog and we, we gotta hold a memorial service for it, we go-gotta, like, pray to its dog overlords o-or some shit-"

"I felt guilty, alright?" Stan shouts, voice bouncing off the paper thin walls of his apartment. Suddenly there's no sorrow in his voice, only red-hot anger, and it's all launched at Rick. "Am I _allowed_ to feel emotions sometimes, Rick? Is that _okay_ with you? I mean, Jesus _Christ!_ Of _course_ I'm gonna feel worse if I hit a goddamn dog! That dog belonged to someone, Rick! Somebody came home to her every day! She made someone happy, and I ruined that!"

"And they'll get another one!" Rick leaps to his feet, smiling bitterly. "Y-y-you know there are probably half a million golden retrievers in the US _alone?_ They-they all look the same; I could literally swap that dog you hit w-with any one of them, and I bet you my _life_ no one would know the difference. Know why? Be-because _none_ of them are special in _any_ way."

In one swift motion, Stan has Rick's shirt collar held tightly in his fist. "That's not true, Rick," he growls, and Rick wears a shit-eating grin as he feels the blood rush to his head, "that's not true and you _know_ it!"

"O-oh, but it is, Stan," Rick replies smugly, feeling as though he won the argument he himself had insisted on starting. "Everyone's the same, no one's unique. E-everyone _dies,_ Stanley; everyone leaves and there's always someone else in line to take your place."

Stan stops. His grip on Rick's shirt loosens, and his angered expression vanishes. Time, itself, seems to stop. Rick can practically _swim_ in the hurt that begins to pool in Stan's eyes.

"Am I... am I just like everyone else, Rick?" he asks quietly.

Rick opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. His words have finally caught up to him, playing over and over again in his head, and if there _is_ a God out there somewhere, he's no doubt staring down at him muttering, "You poor, fucking idiot."

"Is there nothin' special about me? Not even in the slightest?" Tears prick the corners of Stan's narrowing eyes. "Is that how you feel about me?" he demands. "Am I just _temporary_ to you?" He shoves Rick away from him forcefully.

Rick stumbles back, almost tripping over his own feet. His throat tightens at Stan's words, and he swallows hard. "Hey, no, tha-that came out wrong, I didn't-"

"I'm so... so _stupid!"_ Stan shouts, swiping a sleeve across his eyes. "Stupid to have _ever_ thought this would last! Because I guess I'm just some _dog_ to you, Rick! You can injure me all you want, treat me however you'd like, and I'll _still_ trail at your feet! And when it's all said and done you can just kick me to the curb and shoot me in the head, 'cause like you said, there's already someone waiting to take my place!"

Rick Sanchez isn't a man of many emotions. But goddammit, standing in the middle of Stan's shitty apartment, watching his boyfriend break down because of him, he feels a wave of remorse take over, an emotion he didn't know he was capable of feeling.

"I- I'm sorry," Rick whispers, and there's a sort of heaviness behind his eyes, as if he needs to cry but isn't physically capable of doing so. "I-I was being a know-it-all, Stan, I was trying to w-w-win a battle you weren't even interested in fighting." Stan stands across the room, staring at the floor, fighting back tears.

"I just... shit, y-you care too much, Lee, don'tcha get that?" the blue-haired male questions softly, crossing the room to face Stan. "Y-you got the biggest heart I've ever known. You care about silly shit like music, a-and animals, and... and _me,_ y'know, and... well, caring about trivial shit like that too much just gets you hurt." 

Slowly, Rick reaches out and takes Stan's hands in his. They're huge, soft and callous, and they're one of the best damn things Rick has ever felt. Stan finally meets Rick's stare, his eyes drowning in tears, and Rick wipes them from his face slowly and diligently. 

"And I'll be damned," Rick begins, "if I _ever_ let anything hurt you, Stanley."

"You're not trivial," Stan utters, pressing their foreheads together. The words hit Rick like a train. He knows this world doesn't need him- he could drop off the face of the earth in this very moment and no one would bat an eye.

Except... Stan would. 

And Stan is the only person in the universe that matters to him.

"A-and you," Rick begins, bringing Stan's knuckles to meet his lips once more, "y-you're so special to me, Lee, I _promise_ you are."

They collapse on Rick's shitty mattress and fall asleep with each other in their arms. Rick loses consciousness with the words "love you" on his tongue.

When he wakes up the next morning, Stan is still fast asleep, snoring loudly into his pillow. Rick smiles and shakes his head before he raises himself into a sitting position. He takes one long look around the room, one long look at Stan, who looks genuinely happy as he sleeps. Rick's smile falls.

 _It's for the best,_ he tells himself, and quietly slides out of the bed. He dresses in silence, reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and pulls out an old receipt. On the back he scribbles a small note:

_Lee,_

__

_Last night, I realized something. If you hang around me, you're gonna get hurt no matter what. The way I think, the way I act, it's all cynical. That's just who I am. You always see the good shining through the bad- you chose_ me, _for God's sake, so that's saying something- and when I look at the world all I see is rot. I'm always gonna bring you down, Stan, and I love you too much to do that. So I'm leaving Gravity Falls for good, and I hope you value yourself enough not to look for me._

__

_Sorry. Didn't wanna wake you. They always say you should let sleeping dogs lie._

__

_Yours forever,  
Rick_

He tucks the note under Stan's pillow and kisses the top of his head. "See you in your dreams, Lee," he croaks out in a whisper. On his way out of the apartment complex, he pops the trunk of Stan's car and snatches the shovel from inside. Before he leaves Gravity Falls for good, he has a job to do. 

Rick makes a purchase at a local shop. The cashier eyes him cautiously. He's a heavy-set man, in his late 30s or so, with beady eyes and a criticizing gaze. "You ain't from 'round here, are you, mister?" the man asks slowly.

"God forbid," Rick deadpans, and snatches the heavy plastic bag from the counter. "Keep the change."

The sign he and Stan crashed into the night before has been replaced with a replica that is almost identical, save for the _"(I MEAN IT!!)"_ written in small print across the bottom. Rick rolls his eyes and kicks it aside, pushes past the vines and shrubs, and wanders down the path once more with his eyes downcast. He can see the imprints of Stan's large shoes in the dirt, along with slender prints of his own. He follows them between pines and firs and hops across narrow, winding streams until he reaches the clearing. 

"So, uh." Rick clears his throat and looks upward. The trees around him sway in a light spring breeze, casting shadows on the ground below. With a grumble, Rick stabs at the dirt with his shovel. "I know y-you're just a dead dog or whatever, but Stan really cared about you, that idiot." He digs small holes around the raised-up plot of earth. "And he... he would've wanted you to be happy in this little dirt coffin of yours, so, uh... this is for him." 

He works diligently, until the sun is low in the sky, and stands back once he finishes, admiring his handiwork.

There, planted in a neat circle around the grave, are five small daffodils. The light that filters hazily through the trees makes them glow a magnificent yellow. Rick smiles with satisfaction, pulls out his flask, and takes a long sip before turning in the direction of the road.

"I'll never forget you, Stanley."

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd write something to celebrate the release of the first Rick and Morty ep of the season, and Stanchez was on the brain, so I scribbled out this little fic. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
